How
Scientology remade Clearwater, Floridaand what local Christians
learned in the process.

By Jody Veenker with
additional reporting by Steve Rabey

August 8, 2000

By all appearances,
Clearwater lives up to its name. Located just outside of Tampa Bay, the
city boasts palm trees, white beaches, sun, surf, and six cruise tour
companies with "dolphin sightings guaranteed." Liberally supplied
with spacious hotels within driving distance of the Busch Gardens amusement
park and the Salvador Dali museum, Clearwater is a tidy burg with street
names like Gulf to Bay Boulevard and Sunset Point Road.

Clearwater is also
home to the most prestigious international instructional center for the
Church of Scientology, one of the most controversial and aggressive new
religions worldwide. In the past 25 years, the growth of Scientology in
Clearwater has transformed the city's downtown corridor, reshaped its
religious climate, and caused Christian churches to rethink their response
to religions that proclaim an unbiblical message.

In 1975 Scientology
owned two of the major buildings in downtown Clearwater. Now the Church
of Scientology boasts 30, including a newly constructed center that will
expand its ability to train new members by 400 percent. Scientology's
influence is felt in city planning, community events, and service projects;
many Clearwater Christians are stunned by how Scientology is redefining
their community. To reach out with cultural sensitivity, the Church of
Scientology employs many methods Christians have used over the centuries:
showing compassion for the vulnerable and striving to be a model corporate
citizen. But individuals and organizations tell stories of having been
harassed, threatened, or sued.

Some Christians in
Clearwater call Scientology a pushy, money-driven cult that preys on the
vulnerable. Others avoid confrontation, striving to tolerate or even welcome
Scientology as a member of the religious community.

Bill Anderson, pastor
of Calvary Baptist Church of Clearwater for the past 25 years, says it
has been difficult to treat Scientologists with love while countering
their teachings with biblical truth. "This has really sharpened my
focus about the exclusivity of the gospel," Anderson told Christianity
Today. "Part of my challenge as a pastor has been trying to help
my people live not only as good people but to live as good witnesses.
Too often, I'm afraid, Christians are afraid to stand on the fact that
only Jesus can save you."

After years of aloofness,
several prominent Clearwater churches are recommitting themselves to work
side by side in neighborhood evangelism to reach the entire community,
including the Church of Scientology. As Scientology expands internationally,
Clearwater's Christians hope that what they have learned from dealing
with Scientology will help other Christians worldwide.

False religion?

J. Gordon Melton,
a leading scholar of contemporary religious movements, says Scientology
differs from many alternative religions because Scientologists aim to
utterly remake the world instead of taking refuge from it.

"Unlike the
Mormons [in the late 19th century] who only wanted to be left alone, Scientologists
want to participate in culture," Melton says. "They have inherited
a perspective from the 1960s social activists."

Scientologists have
made persistent and persuasive efforts to win the favor of key officials
and municipal leaders in Clearwater. When downtown Clearwater was in decline
in the 1970s, the Church of Scientology bought real estate, investing
millions of dollars in its properties.

Scientology members
clean vacant lots, plant sea oats to stop beach erosion, and hang holiday
decorations in December. They led volunteer citizen councils to prepare
the city for Y2K and created their own Boy Scout and Girl Scout troops.
Scientologists hold annual parties for local orphans, support anti-drug
education in community schools, and sponsor Winter Wonderland, a children's
carnival, every Christmas season.

The Church of Scientology
also opens some of its facilities, including the historic Fort Harrison
Hotel's ballroom, to Clearwater residents and organizations.

"One of the
concepts of Scientology is that you can't just survive and achieve happiness
and spiritual understanding for yourself," Mike Rinder, director
of the Church of Scientology International, told CT in an lengthy interview
in Clearwater. "You also have a responsibility for the groups that
you're a part of, the community you live in, the people you deal with,
your neighbors, and a general responsibility for all mankind."

Rinder's statement
hints at what Scientology holds out to spiritual seekers. Scientology:

 Aims
to unleash the godlike potential of each person's immortal soul.

 Entrusts
women, minorities, and young people with key leadership roles.

 Promises
that members will accumulate power and position as they advance
in training.

 Retains
a hip aura. Film stars John Travolta and Tom Cruise are in the small
but influential group of celebrities who publicly embrace Scientology.

In Scientology's
early years, religion scholars considered it either a cult or a false
religion. Contemporary scholars, who are less likely to use judgmental
terms, call it a "new religious movement."

Beneath the pop appeal
and carefully constructed image lies a central conviction of Scientology:
individuals are to be loyal to Scientology first and foremost. Scientologists
determine what is ethical based on whether the action in question contributes
to Scientology's survival.

Scientologist author
Regis Dericquebourg describes this ethical yardstick in Scientology, a
reference work distributed by the Church of Scientology International:
"The morality of an individual is judged with regard to the actions
he accomplishes for survival. In such a perspective, goodness is what
is constructive, badness what is against survival.

"Scientology
ethics are not a set of recommendations. They are the result of an understanding
and interiorization of the meaning of life, which acts as a personal compass.
It would be an open moral system."

The cost of withdrawal

When Scientology
arrived in Clearwater, it tried to participate in the community. But several
congregations, determined to avoid Scientologists, stopped interacting
with anyone outside of their immediate church community.

At the Upper Pinellas
County Ministerial Alliance, Bill Anderson and many other pastors grew
weary of bickering about whether Scientologists could join the council.
Anderson says he left the association because the repeated Scientology
debates prevented members from accomplishing the alliance's goals. Many
Christian congregations followed this same pattern; they retreated to
their safe sanctuaries and grew extremely wary of ecumenical activities.

"As a pastor,
I'm regularly asked to accept them as local clergy," says Rick Foster
of Clearwater Community Church. "I get lots of invitations to Scientology's
charitable outreach events. I don't attend because I don't want to legitimize
them as spiritual leaders in the community."

"There is a
healthy sense of wanting to maintain a distance from them, because if
you tick them off, then they are going to come after you full blast,"
Foster adds. "Once you arouse them, they have no love or charity
on their partwhich is kind of a good thing, because Jesus said his
followers would be known for their love .. You tell people to watch
their methods, and people pick up on their aggression pretty readily."

Outchurching the
church

Scientologists say
they were welcomed by some religious leaders, including Otis and Barbara
Green of Everybody's Tabernacle, the rabbinic leaders of Congregation
of Beth Shalom, and the United Church of Christ's hospice director, Doyce
Wise. Largely unwelcome in most of Clearwater's religious circles, Scientologists
created their own interfaith council and launched ministry projects for
the community. Scientologists also actively engaged in community service,
outchurching Clearwater's Christians.

But some residents
question their desire to serve. "Their true agenda is control,"
Anderson says. "They don't really want to be known. They want to
get along like a tiger wants to get along with a rabbit.

"A lot of their
community projects are modeled after what Christians have been doing here
all along," Anderson says, listing Calvary Baptist's prison ministry,
children's programs, and special events.

Ben Puckett, dean
of enrollment at Clearwater Christian College, agrees but adds that some
Scientology outreach in Clearwater is not openly affiliated with the church.

"They have a
great deal of good-will programs that are so general and euphemistic that
unless you ask, you wouldn't know they are Scientology-run," Puckett
says, citing Narcanon, Crimanon, and the True School, a Scientology elementary
school, as examples. "Some things they are very public about and
others they keep quiet for fear of community disapproval."

The importance
of appearing earnest

The Church of Scientology
presents an empathic, caring persona to outsiders. But some Christian
leaders see that as a mirage. "The church is very intentional about
its pr and its image in the community," says Ron Benefiel, a former
Nazarene pastor who dealt with Scientologists in Los Angeles for two decades.

Scientologists burnish
their public image, associating the movement with tradition, structure,
and credibility. Not only did they purchase a historic hotel for their
headquarters, but the design for the new training building and auditorium
echoes the hotel's mission-style architecture. The distinctive uniforms
worn by Scientology staff project an image of trustworthy authority.

Many Scientology
ceremonies and symbols seem patterned after familiar Christian traditions.
A key symbol, displayed on the covers of pamphlets, books, and even the
roofs of many church buildings, is an eight-point cross that represents
Scientology's eight dynamics: self, family, groups, species, life forms,
physical universe, spirits, and infinity.

The church is also
experimenting with weekly Sunday services to introduce newcomers to Scientology.
Sermons, group exercises, and instructions about seating arrangements
all appear in The Background Ministry, Ceremonies, and Sermons of the
Scientology Religion. The book gives directions for five different types
of Scientology weddings, two funeral ceremonies, and even a christening
service that opens with the minister placing a drop of water on the baby's
forehead.

Scientologists do
not believe in a personal God but rather in an Infinity ("the All-ness
of All"). Their formal prayer for total freedom, recited at meetings,
includes the words "Freedom to be. Freedom to do and freedom to have.
Freedom to use and understand man's potentiala potential that is
God-given and godlike." The prayer ends with "May God let it
be so." Scientology official Mike Rinder says that prayer expresses
Scientology's vision for a new world; it is not a petition to a personal
God.

"In Scientology
the concept of God is really infinity, not a person that we pray to in
the traditional sense," Rinder says. He adds that the cross and the
Sunday meetings are not imitations of Christian practice.

Scientology has its
own symbols, style, and practices, he says; for example, each individual
attends Scientology courses and undergoes "auditing"one
of Scientology's most distinctive practices. During auditing, individuals
are electrically monitored with a polygraph-like device as they recall
crucial moments in their lives, hoping to free themselves from harmful
feelings and reactions.

Scientologists believe
their church has been maligned and stigmatized. Although their church
has fought and won the legal battle for legitimacy in the United States,
Scientologists say they still are subjected to prejudice and bias in other
nations around the world.

But others say the
Church of Scientology has only itself to blame. Calvary Baptist's Anderson
told CT that Scientology's lack of candor is longstanding. Anderson says
an organization known as United Churches of Florida approached him in
the 1970s and offered free radio time. After Anderson started asking questions,
the individuals acknowledged they worked for the Church of Scientology.

"My problem
with them from the beginning has been that they did not tell the truth
about themselves," Anderson says. "They came into Clearwater
under the shade of night, and they have systematically attempted to take
over this town."

Scientologists told
CT they never tried to deceive Clearwater. "It is common practice
for any large and influential organization about to establish itself in
a new area to remain discreet until details of the move are final,"
says Scientology official Janet Weiland of Los Angeles. She compared Scientology's
purchases in Clearwater to Disney's acquisition of Florida land for its
theme parks.

As for United Churches
of Florida, Weiland says it was a group launched by Scientology to unite
members of all faiths in solving social problems. Scientology disbanded
the group was disbanded because it was "misunderstood and distorted
by ill-minded religious isolationists."

Civic tensions

As the Church of
Scientology expanded its Clearwater instructional arm, the Flag Service
Organization, mistrust intensified between local residents and Scientologists.
The church's attempts to discredit local opponents heightened tensions.
According to evidence uncovered by the fbi and reported in The Washington
Post, Mayor Gabe Cazares was subjected to a 1978 smear campaign and was
implicated in a hit-and-run auto accident allegedly staged by Scientologists.
Cazares today considers the church an "international paramilitary
terrorist organization."

Relations between
the city and Scientology remained fractious during the 1990s. When Brian
Aungst was elected last year, he was the first Clearwater mayor in a dozen
years to welcome dialogue with Scientology officials. His opponent, former
mayor Rita Garvey, says she made it a habit never to speak with church
authorities.

Suspicions about
the Church of Scientology's true intentions for Clearwater have been around
at least since 1977. That year fbi agents raided Scientology offices in
Los Angeles and Washington, D.C., uncovering plans to take over parts
of the federal government as well as controlling Clearwater.

Scientology officials
claimed the plans were those of a rogue group within the church infrastructure
that included Mary Sue Hubbard, the widow of founder L. Ron Hubbard.

The Scientology Guardian's
Office group illegally wiretapped several federal agencies, including
the Internal Revenue Service (IRS), a perennial Scientology foe.

Eleven church members
were convicted in 1979 of stealing government documents to cover up church
activities.

As Scientology fought
to be recognized as a church, reports surfaced about practices involving
extrasensory perception and beliefs about alien life.

At that time, the
IRS said Scientology was not a religion because members paid fees to attend
courses and auditing sessions. The IRS refused to grant the Church of
Scientology tax-exempt status until 1993. By then, after almost 40 years
of lawsuits, the organization reportedly was spending $1.5 million per
month in legal fees.

Legal wrangling

Scientology has earned
a reputation for pursuing legal action against its critics. "We do
everything within our power to keep cases from going to court," Rinder
told CT, with the caveat that if negotiations fail, then Scientology will
do what it takes to ensure victory. "We don't seek out fights, but
if forced into one, we'll give it everything we've got."

But in some of Scientology's
most prominent court battles, the out-of-court negotiations have raised
questions about Scientology's methods.

For example, after
years of Scientology's legal wrangling with the IRS, the U.S. Supreme
Court handed down a decision in 1989 (Hernandez v. Commissioner of Internal
Revenue) that the payments Scientology collected for training and auditing
sessions were not tax deductible and could not be classified as charitable
contributions. Undeterred, Scientologists responded with more than 2,000
individual lawsuits against the IRS.

Critics believed
the church was employing a tactic founder Hubbard outlined in a 1955 magazine
article:

The law can be used
very easily to harass and discourage, rather than to win . and enough
harassment on somebody who is simply on the thin edge anyway will
generally be sufficient to cause his professional decease. If possible,
of course, ruin him utterly.

David Miscavige,
chairman of the board of Scientology's Religious Technology Center, decided
to meet with IRS officials in 1991. He visited the Washington offices
of then-IRS Commissioner Fred Goldberg and negotiated a two-year review
process that ended with an out-of-court settlement.

Under the settlement,
Scientology would receive tax-exempt status if it paid $12 million in
back taxes (compared to $33 million for legal expenses in 1988, according
to the St. Petersburg Times).

The suits by individual
Scientologists were withdrawn.

Critics also raise
concerns about the death of Scientologist Lisa McPherson in 1995. McPherson
died in the care of Clearwater Scientologists 17 days after a car accident
left her exhibiting signs of mental illness.

Medical examiner
Joan Wood changed her assessment of what caused McPherson's death from
"undetermined" to "accident" in February 2000.

Scientology officials
had urged the examiner to review her findings for four years. Scientology
officials and lawyers compiled mounds of information for Wood's review,
including investigative studies on ketone (an organic compound) and an
elaborate reconstruction of the accident.

Rinder told the St.
Petersburg Times that although the money spent on the case was "enormous,"
the church believed it was necessary to supply Wood with "the correct
information."

Local prosecutors
later dropped criminal charges against the church. Although the state
has more or less closed the McPherson case, the woman's estate is proceeding
with a wrongful death suit against the church.

Brave new city

In spite of strained
relations, Scientology appears destined to become Clearwater's most conspicuous
corporate citizen. The past 25 years stand as a social experiment in which
a new religion is remaking an existing city in its own image.

With great tenacity,
the Church of Scientology has become heavily involved in a community that
simmered with hostility at its approach. Instead of shunning Scientology,
some city officials now see it as a fixture in Clearwater and able to
contribute to the city's growth and prosperity.

As legal cases have
been resolved, a new era of cooperation between city leaders and the church
seems to be unfolding, says William B. Horne II, Clearwater's assistant
city manager.

"Our new vision
for the city is 'One city, One future,' " Horne says. "It reflects
our confidence that all members of the community have a stake in making
this the best city to live and vacation in."

Horne's immediate
predecessor, Bob Keller, called the Church of Scientology an economic
asset because it draws people with expendable income to the area. Scientology
has helped the city council embrace this view by sponsoring market analyses
about which stores and attractions would best cater to Scientologists'
needs.

"We're trying
to treat all of our citizens with respect," says Frank Klim, communications
director for the City of Clearwater. "We're a democracy, we care
about public safety, and we aren't targeting any special efforts."

Beneath the construction
cranes, Scientology's shuttle buses and uniformed students move between
buildings. Most of downtown Clearwater's main thoroughfares are marked
with reminders of the religious activity that takes place in the surrounding
buildings.

"It's generally
believed that fewer people visit the downtown area because of the hundreds
of uniformed Scientologists walking the streets," says Marshall Van
Dine, minister of First United Methodist Church of Clearwater. "But
most people have accepted their presence in the community."

"A lot of what
they have done downtown has been seen as positive and community-building,"
Pastor C. Philip Whitener of Grace Lutheran Church told CT.

But, he wonders,
"How much control will they exert?"

Intimidated no
more

Even as city officials
become less anxious about the presence of Scientology, some Clearwater
church leaders are growing more open in opposing Scientology.

But most Clearwater
Christians have little direct contact with Scientologists. Some say their
church is too far from the city center; others admit they avoid Scientologists
for fear of unpleasant confrontations or reprisals.

Many of the largest
churches around Clearwater, surveyed by Christianity Today, are committed
to getting their members involved. These congregations are pooling their
resources to assess how they can best present the gospel to all of Clearwater.

Nick Champlin, pastor
of Faith Christian Church, says that instead of attacking Scientology,
he would like to focus on exalting Christ.

"We would like
to see our church explode right here in the center of Scientology city,"
Champlin says. "I don't want to protest against Scientologists. I'd
much rather lift up the Lord and see the light of the church prosper and
shine, proving where sin abounds, much more does grace abound."

These mobilized churches
are calling on resources outside of Clearwater to better understand Scientology.
Craig Branch of the Apologetics Resource Institute and former Scientologist
Brian Haney visited Clearwater in April to encourage and educate church
members.

Branch says he senses
a new urgency in local pastors to stand up in a spirit of Christian love
against Scientology.

"We're concerned
about the balance between educating people on Scientology's false claims
and yet still urging them to act with love and compassion toward Scientologists,"
he says. "These churches are committed to forming a prayer front
and developing a heart for people who are really suffering spiritually."

Plans are also forming
to host an interdenominational educational meeting this fall to help Christians
know what resources and truths they can offer Scientologists. Some of
the Christians who have been most outspoken about Scientology believe
it will take great effort to change the spiritual climate of Clearwater.

"Many churches
are afraid. But we aren't intimidated, because we have the truth,"
Anderson says.

"The point is
that we need to witness to individuals as individuals. We believe firmly
that you should be a presence for Christ wherever you are planted."

Jody Veenker
is an associate editor with ChristianityToday.com. Steve Rabey is a writer
in Colorado.